Like many other people, I too was caught up in the “Great Kate Wait.” What really touches my heart about seeing the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge and their new little one really has nothing to do with them as much as it has to do with me, and the fact that they are young and living through such an incredible event in anyone’s life and we are privy to watching it. Since I don’t have any movies of getting in the car with my own children, seeing them reminds me of what it was like for me so many years ago when my babies were coming along.
The day my daughter Maggie was born started gray and drizzling. Dave was away; four weeks into a seven month Indian Ocean cruise aboard the USS John F. Kennedy. Except for my kitty companions, Punkin and Blossom, I was alone when I woke up about five that morning with mild contractions. The misery I’d been feeling about the unfairness of life putting twelve thousand miles between Dave and me at this important time was quickly replaced by a sense of excitement that the moment I’d been waiting for was about to arrive. Soon, after only twenty or so hours of labor, I had a beautiful baby girl and I was somebody’s Mommy.
Luckily, Navy wives are never really alone so I had a “village” all primed and ready to help me with everything and anything I needed in Dave’s absence. My neighbors provided me with meals, picked up my mother at the airport, showered me with gifts and checked in on me. One of them even came to the hospital with me as my birthing coach. They were so open and happy to help, and I was happy to let them.
When Andy was born seventeen months later, we were lucky enough to have Dave home, ever so briefly. When I announced it was time to go to the hospital he was in the middle of watching a Buddy Hackett special on HBO and wasn’t too keen on leaving. When I insisted, he got up, went to the kitchen and made himself a sandwich to take along. Of all the helpful literature he’d read about coaching a birth, the one thing he remembered was to bring a snack because he might get hungry during a long labor. As it turned out, I don’t think he had a chance to eat the sandwich, but at least he was prepared. It’s not that Dave is insensitive, only practical.
We brought Andy home in our first brand new car, a 1983 Nissan Sentra four door sedan in a deep burgundy. Our previous auto, a Volkswagen Sirocco was a two door coupe. It had been hard enough to climb into the back to buckle one baby over a bucket seat, two was out of the question. So, on that very hot day in July, we drove our new baby home in our new car in the heady fragrance of commingling new baby and new car smells.
Our first night home as a family was a little rocky. We started our night with Andy sleeping in a roll-away crib in our room but all his little noises kept us awake so it wasn’t long before Dave rolled him away into his own room. Hearing him when he awoke wasn’t an issue, the house wasn’t that big. The first time he cried he woke us all up. I remember sitting in my chair, nursing him while Dave held Maggie who when she heard Andy cry, starting crying herself. I was so torn, feeling tethered to this infant, who I really didn’t know, while my baby sat on her father’s lap, her little arms outstretched to me. I suppose I probably started crying too.
Eventually, Andy was fed and asleep, Maggie was comforted and back in her bed and I in mine. After that the nights were easier. Dave was soon back to sea for another seven month cruise and I was a more than full time Mommy. As I look back on those days now, despite the frequently interrupted sleep, poopy diapers and car seat buckling, those days of early motherhood were some of the happiest days of my life. My days had a natural rhythm, a cadence set by the day-to-day routine of feedings, naps, diaper changes, walks, hugs, and endless book reading. I never set an alarm, there was just no need. Most mornings I woke refreshed and most nights I fell asleep hard and fast. As a better writer than I once said, “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.”
Fast forward thirty years and here I am, a nostalgic middle-aged woman, delighting in the sights of another young family taking their first “baby steps” together; remembering the days when I was in their shoes with great warmth and joy.